The Night That Covers Me
by Thranduil Oropherion Redux
Summary: An AU examination of the relationship between Legolas and Aragorn in Aislynn Crowdaughter's darkfic, Mael Gul.  Warning: although this story would be rated R, there are some very disturbing elements, including slash and BDSM.


Summary: An alternate universe examination of the relationship between Legolas and Aragorn in Aislynn Crowdaughter's very affecting darkfic, Mael Gul. Warning, although this story would be rated R, be advised that there are some very disturbing elements, including slash and BDSM.

Disclaimer: I do not own this. JRR Tolkien owns the characters, and Crowdaughter owns the universe and concept of the Mael Gul. This is an alternate version of that already alternate universe, and it is being presented to you with the permission of the gracious adaneth who authored that tale.

My thanks to IgnobleBard, who was the beta for this story.

**The Night That Covers Me**

Legolas winced as the first lash hit his bare shoulders. The _Mael Gul _spell had been extended yet again, binding him cruelly tightly now, yet he had not gone so deep into need that he welcomed the pain, or the other things Aragorn must do to bring himself to completion. No matter how great the need that came upon him, he never enjoyed being hurt. It was just something he endured, as he had for the past sixty years with the man he still sometimes thought of as Estel, and for the years before that, when he had no hope at all.

The night was hazy, and the stars were veiled. Legolas and Aragorn were alone, a distance away from the camp. The rest of the Fellowship now knew that they were lovers, master and slave, and granted them their privacy, although Legolas doubted that the rest of them quite understood the enormity of how things stood between them. Naked, Legolas knelt on the bare, chill ground, his hands wrapped tightly around the trunk of a sapling for support. Aragorn had tied his hands, but only loosely for the formality of it. Legolas could have easily freed himself in a moment. This was wisdom out in the wild where danger might come without warning, but it was also a sign that his master trusted him not to fight, even in his extremis of pain. Aragorn had come to trust him more and more as the years went on.

High in the dusky night sky a lone star burned. Legolas fixed his gaze upon it as another lash fell, this time across his lower ribs. He preferred that area, actually, for it did not interfere with the carrying of his quiver, nor his ability to sit. Although, after the night had ended, he would not be sitting comfortably either. It was simply a fact of life for him now.

How ironic, he thought, that some in Middle-earth called this star, Eärendil, the Evenstar. 'The Evenstar' also described Arwen Undomiel, the one who thought of Legolas as her rival for Aragorn's affections. At first, Legolas had thought that the Lady Arwen would look on him with gratitude, did she but know what he endured in her stead. He now realized she was too much her father's daughter to appreciate his standing proxy for her in her beloved's activities.

_'Are you proud, oh Brave Mariner, to look down from your heavenly craft and behold your distant descendent at his sport?_' Legolas wondered silently. _'And your son -- are you pleased to see what he has wrought upon the face of Arda? Or are you ashamed, rather, to see kin treating kin in such a way?'_

A voice spoke to him out of memory. Snatches of words in his mind. _'Proud . . . my son . . . proud of you . . . no matter what . . . .' _His father's voice, choked with grief. And with it came a vision of Thranduil's face, twisted with anguish, tears in his eyes. It was the night that Legolas had died as a man; when Elrond had made of him a thing to be used by others.

There would be no comfort in this memory and he sought another. This time he saw Thranduil's face, blank and bleak, reflected red light from the goblet of wine in his hand casting a dancing splash onto the stone ceiling of his chamber. When was this? So many times, Thranduil had sat alone with his thoughts and his wine. No matter, Legolas would find no ease here either.

Another blow fell, along his left side, and Legolas paid it little heed. The scene in his mind had changed, and he ran through sunlight, along a narrow path. There still existed places in Taur nu Fuin, where the sunlight fell to earth and the grass grew green. In this memory, he was young and innocent, and he laughed to take in the woodsy scent of the trees. "_Look, Ada, this bird is hurt!"_ Ahead of him, a wood-grouse scuttled along the trail, her wing held askew. He looked behind to see Thranduil, dressed in simple leathers and looking carefree for once. "_Shall we help her?"_ His piping tones were the high ones of a young elf who had not yet gained his growth.

_"Nay, Legolas. She is not injured,"_ his father had replied. _"She has a nest of young ones nearby, and it is mother-love that moves her."_

In memory, Legolas watched the female grouse limp along the path. _"Ada, why did Nana die?"_

_"Because she could, my Little Leaf,"_ Thranduil said sadly. _"Because she could."_

Legolas knew that if he turned his head back in his mind's eye, he would see that he had made his father sad once again. There was no comfort in this memory either. Comfort had become increasingly hard to find in these latter days.

A lash cut viciously between his shoulder blades, and Legolas gasped despite himself. From the burning sting of it as the night air hit the welt, he could tell that Aragorn had broken the skin. Wearing his quiver and pack tomorrow would be a torment. What was Aragorn thinking? Usually his master took more care when they were out together in the wild and Legolas might be expected to fight in his defense at any time. But Aragorn was becoming more and more careless of late.

It was that cursed thing the hobbit Frodo carried, Legolas knew it. He could feel the fell influence of it himself, clouding his dreams and sleep visions, and sending his thoughts in dark directions even now, when awake. Always he saw it in the back of his mind as a burning wheel of fire, casting a ruddy glow on the blue light that held him.

He fled into the past again, but the memory he found was not a good one.

_They rode on the Elf Path in Mirkwood, heading east. His father was silent, sitting his horse with a stiffness Legolas now understood only too well. Legolas's first ennin ceremony was over with. Elrond had insisted he attend, but he had been excused this time from . . . watching. Yet his heart ached for the captive elves he had seen led away, never to know freedom in their woods again._

_Thranduil held up his hand, bringing the train of mounted warriors to a halt. He dismounted, nodded to excuse himself and disappeared off into the trees. Legolas made as if to follow, but his father's esquire, Galion quickly stopped him._

_"It is not his bladder that needs to be relieved," Galion said. "He will not be able to keep food down for a fortnight. It has always been thus, from the very first ceremony and it will be worse now. Do not let him know I told you this but . . . ," Galion's voice was harsh with hatred, "that Golodh bastard made him beg for it this time."_

_For a moment, Legolas could only stare in horror. "He hides it well."_

_"Aye, that he does," Galion said. "His dignity among us is all that he has left now. I think he would prefer to let Elrond deny him and die, save that then the curse would be placed on his successor." Galion stared at Legolas meaningfully._

_Thranduil had returned then, looking his normal self save for a tightness about the eyes. He had sensed immediately what had passed between his son and his esquire and he gave Galion a weary look. After mounting his horse he gestured for the escort to fall back. "Give me leave a while. I would take counsel with my son in private."_

_Legolas had ridden beside his father for a long time before Thranduil broke the uncomfortable silence. "Did you think, my son, that being royal was all about wearing a crown and bright jewels, drinking fine wines and having subjects rush to obey? Nay, we serve our people even more than they serve us. And sometimes the duty is most bitter. If pain is to be endured, it is we who must endure it rather than the folk we have taken it upon ourselves to rule."_

_"Father, why does Elrond hate you so much?"_

_Thranduil sighed and shook his head. "I have no idea. He and I were friends once, did you know? My father, Oropher, always warned me never to trust a Golodh, but Elrond seemed decent enough. Would that I had listened! Even as the armies of Imladris and Lothlórien marched toward our borders so long ago, I could not believe that it was anything other than a dark jest. How could they be serious in holding my father responsible for the death of Gil-galad?"_

_Thranduil had paused, his face dark with old memories. "That first . . . night with Elrond convinced me he was serious. Two lost sons and a dead wife have convinced me he was serious. Not to mention the more than two hundred of our free folk he has carried off to a life of unspeakable horror."_

_"To be a slave," Legolas said. "The idea fills me with dread. How do they bear it?"_

_Thranduil shook his head. "To survive as a slave one must either twist or break."_

_Legolas did not know what demon claimed his tongue to say what he did next, for he knew it would cause great pain for Thranduil to acknowledge that he, too, was a slave. "And you Father? Which has it done to you?" _

_His father had smiled bitterly. "A little of both, I think. I made the bargain for myself and for our people, to stay alive in the hope that things might be set to right. In retrospect, it was a bad one, but we are in for better or worse. Turn aside now, and the sacrifice of those who came before went for nothing. All I live for now is the day when we become strong enough to throw off this yoke and Elrond will be at my mercy. It comes slowly, Legolas, but it comes. On that day when Elrond is finally beneath my hand, for the sake of my immortal faer, I will forgive him, for I know that good Radagast is right, and Elrond is unwittingly in the thrall of the Enemy. And then, for the sake of the friendship we once bore, I will put him down for the mad dog he has become."_

_"But that would mean your death!"_

_"So it would, but I would die a happy man. I will accept the pain for the freedom it will bring me. Or perhaps one of my own warriors will have the kindness to put me down for the mad dog I, myself, have become."_

Legolas had gone so deep into memory that the tearing pain in his backside took him unawares. He hissed in discomfort. What was this? Aragorn, or one of the toys? Feeling warmth rather than cold, he decided it was his master's flesh penetrating him. He would have to pay more attention now; make the right movements and noises. Otherwise Aragorn might lose his erection and be unable to complete the act. If that happened, and it had happened more than once over the course of their years together, they would have to start all over again with the whipping on the morrow.

He heard Aragorn sigh with pleasure. "Good . . . so good." Without waiting for his slave's body to accommodate to the bulk inside of him, he began to thrust, drawing another gasp from Legolas. This too was new, since his master had returned from Bree, although there had been occasions in the past when Aragorn had done it deliberately, trying to hurt. There had been other times though, far in the past, when Estel had been a considerate lover, and Legolas held onto that now.

His mind fled even farther back . . . . _A dark night, lit by fire, with the scent of wood smoke. An Elf-lass smiled at him over a cup of wine in her hand, and he smiled back. He had felt the desire to take her into the woods, to steal a kiss and maybe more, and he knew that desire had been returned. And then the fire had been kicked out, going up in a shower of sparks, and everything had begun to go wrong for him. That future; himself as lover, husband, father was lost to him now._

He wondered if that girl would still smile if she could see him now, on his knees, back bloody, with another man buried deep inside him, rutting. But, in truth, that was the last vision Mirkwood had been granted of its prince. Elrond had made sure of that. That was the vision Mirkwood had had of its king, for the past Age.

Now, his traitor body began to respond. He did not fight it. After the first weeks and months, he had learned to tolerate what at first had been a violation, and in time he had been able to find a physical pleasure in it. It was only recompense for all he must endure. It was a bodily thing merely, however. His _faer_ did not take pleasure in it. Only once, long ago, had he known the joy of giving himself to another freely, in the days of Estel, when he had seen the Dúnadan boy as lover and savior. But those days were long past. Legolas was acutely aware that he himself had been a tool in Aragorn's downfall, that the man had become what he now was in a failed attempt to save Legolas from pain and servitude. That it had been done out of love made Legolas forgive his master . . . almost. It did not make the betrayal any less bitter.

Aragorn took him into his hands, stroking and murmuring words of encouragement into his ear. Soon now, Legolas thought, as he sighed in return.

_"Proud of you, my son . . . ." He heard Thranduil's voice again, that last night, alone in the tent, both bound and awaiting what lay ahead. Elrond had given them some moments of privacy to make their farewells, perhaps as a final twist of the knife. Legolas would never know why, except that this was the only time he had seen his father shed tears._

_"This may be the last time I speak to you or see your face this side of Mandos' Halls," Thranduil had said, his voice thick with anguish. "Stay alive, stay sane, no matter what occurs. Know that every blow, every cut of the lash, every . . . stroke you take is another heartbeat and a free breath for the people of our realm. No matter what they will call you, you are a prince of Mirkwood, and the longer you last, the closer we come to throwing off this cruel yoke. And remember, wherever you are, whatever you do, you are my son and I am proud of you."_

_The guards had come then and dragged them both out into the night, where Elrond stood surrounded by his own warriors, with the soldiers of Mirkwood looking on. When Thranduil had realized what was about to happen he had begun to struggle. "Not before the eyes of all! Not my child -- this is unspeakable! No, take me instead!"_

_Six swords at his throat had silenced him. "Too late, woodland . . . king. The bargain is made."_

_Legolas's last memory, before it was done to him and the anguish made his faer flea from consciousness only to be stopped by the blue light, was his father's impotent mental scream of negation . . . ._

_'Proud of you . . . ._' Legolas groaned and climaxed joylessly into Aragorn's hand. A shudder, and his master thrust hard and flooded him with warmth. They remained, closely joined. The spell was fed, for a time.

"Ahh, my Little Leaf, so good, so brave!" Aragorn whispered, and Legolas rigidly suppressed the impulse to throw this _adan_ off and rip his head from his body. He could do it. He knew many ways of killing with his bare hands: a quick chop to the throat, crushing the windpipe; the swift blow with the heel of the hand to the nose, driving the bone back into the brain. Aragorn had only a partial understanding of how very strong and quick the First Born were and what danger he was in while in Legolas's presence, although Legolas thought that Elrond and his sons had an idea. They had trained him and given him to this man after all. And they had carefully trained Aragorn into what he had now become.

But Elrond had thought wrongly. For the near future, Aragorn was as safe in the company of Legolas as a babe would be in his mother's arms. Legolas would fight for this man -- defend him with his very life if need be, so that Aragorn could survive to take the throne of Gondor. With the finding of The One Ring and the chance of its destruction, this once faint hope had become a possibility. How strange that Legolas, who had lived without hope for so long, should find it again in Isildur's Bane!

For on the day he fulfilled his destiny and became king, Aragorn would at last take the Lady Arwen as his bride and she would make the choice and meet the Doom of the Peredhil. Legolas was resolved to take the beating of his life in order that Aragorn might function as a man on his wedding night and make the bond indissoluble. And then . . . .

His 'master' trusted him. His master relied on him to fulfill certain needs and had grown complacent, as if putting Legolas into pain were an entitlement instead of a cruel necessity. He actually had begun to fool himself into thinking Legolas was willing to endure it out of love.

Aragorn would learn the true strength of the First Born. When they were alone together at their next session following the wedding, Legolas would free himself of his token restraints. Out of care for his own immortal _faer_ and the love he had once born for a beautiful Mortal boy, he would forgive Aragorn, and then he would put him down like the mad dog he had become. It would mean his own death, but he would die a happy man. For Elrond Peredhel would learn, on that day, the grief of losing not one, but two of his children to true death. It was not equal justice for all Mirkwood had been forced to endure, but it would have to do.

Elrond would take revenge on Mirkwood for this, but he would find a much stronger Mirkwood waiting for him, and this time there would be no surrender. The folk of the Woodland Realm would either prove victorious or they would go down fighting to the last man, woman and child. Either way, they would be free. Thranduil too would inevitably die, but Legolas had long realized that he and his father were dead to life, although their hearts yet beat and they still drew breath. It was no matter, although Legolas dimly hoped that Thranduil would have his own chance for revenge before the end.

Again, in memory, Legolas walked on a sunlit path . . . .

_The wood-grouse scuttled along in front of them. "It is mother love which moves her, my son. See how she feigns injury and helplessness to lead us from those she protects?" Thranduil smiled, for as he spoke, the bird disappeared off the path into the undergrowth. "We may be certain that wherever her nest of young ones is, it is far from here. They are safe." _

_His father sighed. "Our enemies call us rustics, but I thank Oropher every day for bringing me back here and teaching me to live as Elves should. There is wisdom in the forest and in Nature that the Golodhrim, for all their cunning and craft, have forgotten. Elrond and Galadriel put their faith into metal and magic, and in that which they can force upon all things natural, but they are misled. Never forget the lesson of the grouse, Little Leaf, and remember, always, that I love you."_

"Come, Little Leaf, we must be getting back to the camp."

Legolas suppressed his anger as he meekly gathered up his clothing and dressed himself. The _adan_ profaned that name when he spoke it. Once, Legolas had accepted it from Estel's lips as a term of love, but that had been long ago. Love had died on the first day Aragorn had called him slave and meant it. "Yes, Master," he said, and followed.

The clouds had rolled in and Eärendil was hidden from view. _"You could not bear to watch, Brave Mariner, so you hide your face,_" Legolas thought bitterly. Whatever gods there were had turned their faces from him as well. His salvation now lay in his own hands, for better or worse.

Legolas Thranduilion felt grateful for the pitch darkness that hid his chill smile from the man who thought himself to be his master. It was an old adage but true -- revenge is a dish best enjoyed cold. Soon would come the day when the Prince of Mirkwood could play out his strange fate. At the end of all things, he would prove himself to be his father's son.

_The End_

**Author's Notes: **This story is an AU version of Aislynn Crowdaughter's already AU tale, Mael Gul. For a link to the original story, kindly see my profile. This is not her vision of the relationship between Legolas and Aragorn, but I think it is an alternate version for those of us who like our Legolas with a little more 'fight' in him, even though the resistance is merely mental. I have little doubt that Legolas, at this point, is highly influenced by the Ring.

The title of this story is from the opening line of William Ernest Henley's poem, 'Invictus.' For those who are not familiar with it, it is reproduced below:

_Out of the night that covers me,  
__Black as the pit from pole to pole,  
__I thank whatever gods may be  
__For my unconquerable soul._

_In the fell clutch of circumstance  
__I have not winced nor cried aloud.  
__Under the bludgeonings of chance  
__My head is bloody, but unbow'd._

_Beyond this place of wrath and tears  
__Looms but the Horror of the shade,  
__And yet the menace of the years  
__Finds and shall find me unafraid._

_It matters not how strait the gate,  
__How charged with punishments the scroll,  
__I am the master of my fate:  
__I am the captain of my soul_.


End file.
